“Moon over Miami”
You know we’re waiting for
A little love, a little kiss
On Miami shore
—Ray Charles
I know better than to be on the beach past midnight,
spring break curfew in effect, myself a guest in the city
that raised me. This is lunatic behavior. The moon calls me
by name—a spotlight. The sun set into my skin hours ago.
But still, I need air after a woman on South Beach arrested me
with a stare, asked me for towels, sized me up, questioned
my English, repeated her demands. I made the mistake
of thinking I belonged on the beach. Classic Scorpio.
It is so windy I feel my body pushed back and forth
like the waves. She’d stopped me in broad daylight—
eclipsing the sun, studying me. I wonder what gave me
away? I’d looked around, confused. No one saw me
searching for an assist. Who is this woman? And why
is she speaking to me? Does she not know I was dreaming
in daylight—fabulating scenes once outlawed on this very shore?
Goddamnit. Lady, I was supposed to be the special guest
invited to the beach that once policed my kin. It was poetic
justice: sleeping on the beach streaming Louis. I wanted to lift
my keycard like a pass and prove my tourism. I imagine this
is how Aunt Charlene felt on her way to Lerner’s in the fifties:
forced to proffer her Miami Beach Identification Card, her face
and thumbprint studied midday: Age: 18 Height: 5’5” Weight: 130
Race: Blk Hair: Blk Report any change ... Surely no Colored-
town juvenile belong on South Beach. So, I passed the badges
on Ocean Drive and went swimming after sundown.
Source: Poetry (June 2026)